


Atlas Plugged

by PaulAtreDeezNuts



Series: Tumblr Shitposts [7]
Category: Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand
Genre: Anal Play, Butt Plugs, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Vibrating Butt Plugs, and ayn rand was my special interest for a long time, because I'm a masochist and a recovering libertarian, if this carries the reek of someone who has read atlas shrugged 25 times, in spite of the fact that she was a garbage person with a garbage ideology, powered by magic SF static electricity batteries, then it's probably not enough because I've probably read it 50 times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulAtreDeezNuts/pseuds/PaulAtreDeezNuts
Summary: John and Francisco have a bet about who can go the longest wearing the static electricity powered buttplugs that John has brought to the city to show off to his friend.





	Atlas Plugged

The fading heat of late summer sunshine slanted through the skyscrapers as a whipcord of a man made his way through the morass of humanity crowding the streets. It glanced off of steel and glass to illuminate the faces in the concrete canyon but while most moved with their eyes on the ground and no thought but their dinner the thin man walked with his shoulders back and the flint of his gaze rose as a question mark that proceeded him through the press of people. He stood at a corner and waited for the flow of traffic to thin while a bum eyed him, obviously considering trying to cadge a dime but finding it not worth his trouble as he observed the lean muscle that rode easily over rangy bones under a clean but worn shirt. The tall man didn't look left or right as he waited, but stared forward and rested his body with an easy grace and comfort that stood out among the slumped shoulders and gray expressions of the crowd. In the fading light of day his blue eyes were hooded but clear, and his carelessly tousled hair shone like gold.

He walked another block and the sky darkened as the city flooded with artificial light in a riot of yellow and green and red, turning the lobbies of the nearby buildings into blown glass baubles like the decorations of a rich man's table. Above the bodies on the streets an ominous sheet glowed, the page of a vast calendar - newly paid for by the mayor out of the pockets of productive people - read September 2nd.

The tall man paid it no mind and kept walking.

Soon the riot of bodies thinned and he kept his stride even as the pavement beneath his feet worsened and the opulence of the city became shabby and jagged. Empty store windows stared at him with dead eyes and sloppy housewives made their way back from the few grocers with bags holding wilted vegetables and warming milk. Even that was left behind as he paced forward into a darker and more abandoned part of town, his footsteps the only noise and the flinty sparks of his gaze the only light aside from the mellow glow of streetlamps.

And then, like lightning, a bright flash flooded the lot that terminated the dead-end street he'd been traveling down.

From the dead weeds and rough gravel there rose a slim scaffold, a skeleton that held only the bare promise of loveliness in the scant form it traced. Dark steel surged skyward and sketched out a shout of triumph that might one day be echoed in the eyes of the men who would come to occupy the building that would be.

But for now there were only naked beams, abandoned but for one man, whose torch ripped through the evening with cleansing light.

A stranger watching the tall man on the pavement might think his face was only made to grimace, but those who knew him best would understand the thin line of his lips and the sharp jut of his brow as a smile of celebration as he watched the scion of the D'Anconia family wield his fire and hammer new growth into the earth like Hephaestus come to life out of the pages of a storybook.

The body on the beams moved like a dancer and flexed like a brawler. His handsome face was half hidden by the oversized goggles he wore that flashed with streaks of reflected life but his mouth was set in a calm smile that belied confidence and competence while his hair tumbled over his forehead when he bent to his work. The rest of the crew had left for the day but Francisco D'Anconia stayed, swaying without restraints in the cold winds, tied to the edifice more firmly by his simple love of the work than he could be by any safety harness.

Beneath his hands the beam grew hot and glowed dully as he worked, unaware that he was no longer unobserved, before some nameless prickle on his neck told him to lift his head. He caught sight of the man watching him from below and his mouth shaped itself into a white grin that glowed against the night as he stood easily and raised a hand. He set aside his tools and skipped along the beams like an acrobat, coming to the edge of the work and carelessly stepping into the air four stories above the harsh concrete, looking for all the world like he would plunge to his death, before a thin line caught in his gloved hand and he rapidly lowered himself to the ground climbing down hand-over-hand in a thoughtless display of strength. He landed lightly and pulled off his gloves, raising his goggles to his forehead as he came to stand before the other man.

"John," he said, as though they were nodding in an elevator. "I didn't expect you so early."

The tall man's face broke into a true smile as he let loose a ringing, bright laugh. "It's nearly midnight, Francisco."

"Oh, is it?" He turned and gestured over his shoulder. John followed him and they picked their way through the litter of beams and scrap at the base of the tower. "It always seems early to me, like it's always morning and the world is full of promise. At least that's how it seems when I'm working."

"It suits you," John said as Francisco opened the door to a scrubbed wooden shack at the corner of the lot. It was dark and cold in the little dwelling but the dark-haired man stirred the ashes of a fire in a squat stove in the corner of the room while John lit a lamp and soon the space was warm and filled with flickering light.

"The world suits me," Francisco said, and he was right. As the heir to a massive copper fortune, the holder of a PhD in metallurgy, and a skilled tradesman there was nowhere in the world that Francisco D'Anconia could go and find himself at a loss. "But perhaps it suits me better when I stand beside you. And perhaps it only seems early because I've been waiting for you to come tell me that I'd won our bet."

John smiled and draped himself across the only chair in the room, looking his companion up and down with a hot, slow insolence in his gaze.

"How long," he asked in a low voice that rumbled out of his broad chest.

"You said until lunch. I went until five," Francisco's attractive, aquiline face was made into something younger and more teasing with the curve of a wicked smile.

"A long time. Was it hard?"

"Of course it was. I was thinking about you."

"Oh," John cocked his head to the side and let the fine fingers of one wide hand twist into his own hair while he trailed the other hand over the buttons of his fraying shirt. "What were you thinking?"

Francisco stalked forward, predatory and masculine, smelling of sweat and the air of the city as he drew closer to his friend. "I was wondering what you looked like when it got to be too much. Wondering if it made you blush. Wondering what I'd make you do when you found out you'd lost for once."

John's smile widened and he tipped his head back, bearing his throat and working loose the top button of his shirt. "And what did you decide you'd take for your victory?"

Francisco leaned down and delicately traced his fingers over John's high, hard cheekbone before stroking a callused thumb over his plush lips. "Your mouth," he whispered.

John hummed and licked at the offending digit.

"Too bad you lost, then."

"What?!"

"I'm still wearing mine," John said with a smile as sharp as a knife, eyes glinting up from under long lashes as he shifted his hips and moaned, making Francisco realize the quiet hum of tension he'd been feeling was actually the nearly inaudible thrum of vibration underscoring everything they'd said to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're here because you actually like my other fics, my apologies this is a shitpost in fic form. If you're here for the shitposts PLEASE read "The Name of my Beloved" because it is high-tier terrible.
> 
> If you're here to ask me where the update to "New Heights" is it's probably being written by someone who has had more than ten hours of sleep in the last three days and didn't get distracted by a chance to be snarky about Ayn Rand.


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